


Sea Swept

by cypress_tree



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Age of Sail, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Ocean, Romance, Sailing, Sea Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high seas fantasy AU in which Hermann is a ship's navigator and Newton is found washed up among flotsam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea Swept

**Author's Note:**

> although this is tagged "age of sail," that's not entirely correct. the fic is set in a fictional fantasy world that's sort of a cross between your average medieval fantasy setting and a pirates-of-the-caribbean-esque pseudo-historical setting. which is why Westport feels so medieval, and yet Hermann uses a sextant, which wasn't invented until 1757.
> 
> basically, my dire need for complete and utter historical accuracy has ensured that I will never write a true historical AU. but on the plus side, now we can have sea serpents!

The _Nomad’s Bounty_ is six days out at sea, and rocks gently on the waves. Herman looks through his sextant and aligns the Guiding Star with the horizon. He makes note of its angle and leans down to plot a point on his map.

Their course is steady, their route through southern waters holding true. Hermann glances down the deck to make sure he’s alone, then lifts one map to reveal another.

_Kaiju_ , it reads, in his careful script at the top. On the map are small markings—attack sites and sightings, each labeled in ink with star positions. Hermann spends a few short minutes with his fingers against the canvas, looking for a pattern among the chaos. His attention is diverted by voices, and he hides the map once more before the sailors coming towards him can see.

 

 ---

 

Dinner is simple—salt pork and hard tack. Hermann eats at the end of the table, avoiding the boisterous noise of the mess as best he can. He is left alone more often than not. The others respect his skill for navigation, but they all know he can be moody and unfriendly—prickly as an urchin’s shell.

After dinner, he is methodical. He makes his way below deck and shuts himself in his room, changing into his nightshirt and lying down beneath a thick quilt. He reads two chapters on navigational stars, then puts down his book and stares up at the familiar pattern of wood grain on the empty bunk above his head. He blows out the candle on his nightstand, and the room is engulfed in darkness.

The air is still, and smells like sweetgrass. Hermann toys with a loose thread in glaze-eyed mindlessness. He has been at sea for so long that he no longer hears the steady rhythm of waves beating against the side of the ship. He closes his eyes. He ignores the sound of laughter from his shipmates down the hall. He forces his mind to sleep.

 

 ---

 

Hermann is jarred awake by the sound of shouting. The ship still rocks like a cradle, so it can't be a storm or a kaiju. He opens his eyes wide and strains his ears to decipher words.

"Is he dead?"

"Grab some rope!"

"Damn the rope, lower a boat!"

Hermann sits up straight. He shuffles the few steps to his door and opens it, curiously. A rigger is stomping down the hall, lantern held high by her head.

"What is it?" Hermann asks, clutching one arm around his body in a fight against the chill.

The woman glances at him quickly, then pulls open a closet door to grab a handful of spare blankets. "There's a man in the water," she says. "Could be a shipwreck, but there's no ship in sight."

"Kaiju?" Hermann asks.

The woman’s jaw sets, and she doesn't answer. "Go back to sleep," she says. She carries the blankets up the stairs.

Hermann is still for a moment, listening to the shouting. When he hears the crank of the rowboat being lowered to the surface, he pulls on a thick robe and ties it firmly around his waist. He grabs his cane from its place by the nightstand, and exits his room to follow the sound of voices.

 

\---

 

The man is lying on flotsam, floating amid the waves. His clothing is torn, and he looks ragged and weak. The rowboat nears, but he doesn't move towards it. When he is brought onboard, his eyes are closed, and his body is limp. He is still breathing, and his heartbeat is steady, so they carry him to the sick bay, where a bed has been prepared. Only the captain is allowed inside. The others peer in from the door, as the surgeon’s orders are to stay back. Together, surgeon and captain remove the man's wet clothes. His arms and chest are revealed, covered in colorful ink.

"Pirate," someone mutters, and walks away with a scowl.

The captain lifts the man's arm to peer closer. Someone in front of her shifts, and Hermann is able to see more clearly.

A kaiju wraps itself around the man's wrist, curling up his forearm. His skin is abraded, the resulting bruise tinting the kaiju's stomach a deeper shade. His opposite arm is similarly decorated—the body of the sea serpent winds in a spiral. On his chest is a fearsome kaiju face, mouth open as if to devour.

There is murmuring among the crew. They are not without their own markings, but they have never seen someone like this—covered in color like a painter's canvas.

"It's not safe to keep him," whispers the boatswain, superstitious, as always. She walks away from the room, followed by two others. A few linger, but after the stranger’s wounds are tended, he is still deeply asleep, and there is nothing left to sate their curiosity. Hermann finds himself alone with the surgeon and captain. The captain stands.

"Can you nurse him back to health?" she asks.

The surgeon hesitates, but answers affirmative. "There are no serious injuries. He just needs rest. Food and water when he wakes.”

The captain gives a firm nod, and walks out the door. The surgeon looks up at Hermann.

"Nothing to see here, lad." He pulls the blankets high to the man's neck.

 

 ---

 

Hermann wanders back to his room, but can’t fall asleep. He thinks about the stranger—the survivor—and sees kaiju when he closes his eyes. It’s half an hour before he gets out of bed once more and returns to the sick bay.

"I'll stay with him," he says, from the doorway.

The surgeon scratches his long-grey beard. He is hesitant, but easy to convince. When he is gone, Hermann sits down in the empty chair and stretches his legs out in front of him.

 

 ---

 

The hours are long, so Hermann tells stories to pass the time. Inspired by the kaiju on the stranger’s skin, he murmurs quietly tales that he has heard in taverns—famous sightings and attacks. The sleeping man doesn’t show any sign that he can hear, but it comforts Hermann to have someone there to listen.

Hermann is just finishing the legend of Yamarashi when he glances up, and sees that the man’s eyes are fluttering open. His heart leaps into his throat, and he leans over the bed, careful not to startle the stranger.

“Hello?” he asks, not sure what to say. “Are you alright?”

The man gives a weak smile, but doesn’t respond.

“Who are you?” Hermann asks. “What is your name?”

The man’s voice is scratchy and soft.

“Geiszler,” he says.

Hermann’s hand tightens on the edge of the cot. The stranger falls back asleep.

 

 ---

 

Hermann stays by Geiszler’s bedside for two hours more, watching the calm quiet of his expression. His eyes are not without motion—they twitch to the left and right beneath his eyelids. When it unnerves Hermann a bit too much, he places his hand on Geiszler’s arm, and the man’s eyes fall still, his breath becoming even once more.

The sun has just begun to break over the horizon when Geiszler regains consciousness. He coughs, and opens his eyes halfway.

“Water?” he asks. He coughs again.

Hermann rushes to the galley, trying not to make too much noise as his cane pounds against the solid wooden planks of the ship. When he returns to the sick bay, Geiszler is struggling to sit up.

“Lie back down immediately!” Hermann scolds. “You’re not well!”

Geiszler rolls his eyes and doesn’t listen. Hermann frowns. He hands over the mug of water, watching as Geiszler swallows it, gratefully.

“Not so fast,” Hermann says. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

As if on cue, Geiszler chokes, tears springing to his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, defiantly. “Fine.”

Hermann waits as Geiszler drains the mug, then clears his throat to speak.

“I can’t see,” he says, voice still scratchy. “I lost my eyeglasses.”

Hermann sifts through desk drawers and cabinets until he finds a stash of spectacles. He hands three pairs to Geiszler, who tries each of them on, squinting at the wall across from him.

“These are alright,” he says, choosing one. He looks near and far, down at his hand, and across the room. As Hermann moves back to his chair, Geiszler turns to him, and his mouth forms a silent “oh.”

“You’re in the sick bay of the _Nomad’s Bounty_ ,” Hermann says. “We’re a merchant ship. We found you in the water and took you in.”

Geiszler’s gaze becomes distant. He looks out the tiny porthole next to the cot.

“Was it—” Hermann feels guilty for asking so soon, but he knows that if he doesn’t, the rest of the crew will. “Was it a kaiju?”

Geiszler blinks, and turns back to look Hermann in the eyes.

Before he can say anything, the surgeon comes into the room. He gives a cry of surprise when he sees that the stranger is awake, and he immediately becomes aflutter with activity. Hermann is pushed to the side, forgotten.

“How are you feeling?” the surgeon asks. “I see you’ve had a drink. How is your energy? You need food—something of substance.” His eyes flicker about the room until they land on Hermann, now watching silently from the corner.

“Hermann,” he says. “Fetch a bowl of porridge for the patient.”

Hermann bristles. He exits the room quickly, feeling the stranger’s eyes on him as he leaves.

 

 ---

 

All day, the sick bay is occupied by the surgeon and, occasionally, the captain. Hermann walks past the open door more times than necessary, peering in quickly and attempting to eavesdrop. When Geiszler catches him, Hermann huffs and frowns, silently blaming the man for being a distraction. He feels his cheeks heat, and goes out of his way to avoid the room for the rest of the afternoon.

Later that evening, there is a long discussion about what to do with the newfound stranger. There is concern over whether or not he is a pirate, but the captain assures everyone the man is safe. Geiszler’s crew were no hunters of treasure. They searched for something more rare, more dangerous—they were hunters of kaiju.

There is murmuring in the meeting place. It’s bad luck enough to speak of kaiju on a ship. To have a hunter onboard is to knock on trouble’s door and beg for a visit.

The captain says that Geiszler wants to be taken to his home port, Lore, in hopes of finding his ship again. A debate breaks out—supplies are limited, and there is much arguing over what Geiszler must do to earn his keep. Some shout that they are not a traveler's ferry. Others worry that they will anger the kaiju by carrying him. Lore is three ports away, and though it _is_ along their trade route, that is a long way to carry a stranger. There is doubt that his crew even survived the attack.

In the end, when all sides have spoken, it is decided: they will take him, as long as he does his share of the work required of them all. Hermann sighs in relief without knowing why. He walks down to the sick bay before the surgeon returns.

 

 ---

 

Geiszler is still awake. He is sitting up in his cot, staring out the porthole as if he wishes to climb into the water. He turns when Hermann comes in, and smiles when he closes the door behind him. Hermann doesn’t speak until he has settled himself into his chair.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks.

Geiszler nods. “Bit,” he says. “Can’t sleep, though. I’ve probably slept enough already to last me a week.”

Hermann nods, and there is a moment of awkward silence. He has never been good with conversation.

“We’re taking you to Lore,” he says. “There was just a discussion about what to do with you.”

“A discussion?”

“There was concern that you may be a pirate.”

Geiszler laughs. “No, not a pirate. Though I wanted to be one, when I was younger.”

“There was also concern that we would anger the kaiju by keeping you onboard.”

Geiszler’s smile fades, but not completely. He looks at Hermann with his head tilted, the edges of his lips turned up just a bit.

“You’re bold, to say the word so freely,” he says. “You’re not afraid of bad luck?”

“I don’t believe in superstition.”

“Unusual, for a sailor. What _do_ you believe in?”

“Facts. Numbers. The angles of the moon and stars.”

Geiszler’s smile returns. “You’re a man of science; so am I.” He looks down at the monsters on his arms. “I should thank you for the stories.”

Hermann looks up, sharply. “I didn’t realize you—”

“You told the legend of Yamarashi beautifully. It’s my favorite.”

“Oh—”

“Fifty meters in length, the weight of a blue whale...I only wish I’d been there to see him.”

At this, Hermann scowls. “You speak of him with reverence, but three ships were destroyed. A hundred people were killed.”

Geiszler nods. “Yes, but think of the power behind a creature that size. He must have been awe-inspiring.”

“Yes, the power to kill a hundred people. How very awe-inspiring.” Geiszler’s enthusiasm leaves a sour taste in Hermann’s mouth. He can’t keep his displeasure from showing on his face.

“Listen, mate, I’m not making light of the deaths he caused, I’m just—”

“You’re just more interested in the fairy story of what happened than in the actual—”

“Wait, _I’m_ more interested? You’re the one who told the story from memory while I was sleeping!”

They both fall silent when heavy footsteps begin to echo down the hall. Hermann doesn’t want to be seen, but doesn’t want to take his leave, all the same. When the door to the sick bay opens, the surgeon walks in and looks at him immediately.

“You keep coming back,” he remarks. “That leg of yours giving you trouble?”

Hermann opens his mouth to speak, but the surgeon turns to Geiszler.

“We’re taking you to port, son.” He gives a proud smile, as if the decision were his. “ _Your_ port—Lore. Just gotta pay your way by making yourself useful once you’re well.”

Geiszler is looking at Hermann—hasn’t stopped looking at Hermann since the surgeon entered the room. Hermann drops his eyes to the ground and picks up his cane, ready to leave.

“Hermann told me,” Geiszler says.

Hermann looks up, sharply.

“He filled me in just now. We were actually in the middle of a _private_ conversation, so if you don’t mind…”

The surgeon looks flabbergasted. Hermann bites his lips against a smile. When the surgeon backs out, awkwardly closing the door behind him, Hermann props his cane back against the cot, and forces his face into a comfortable frown.

“That was rude,” he says. “And I don’t recall ever giving you my first name.”

Geiszler shrugs. “Well, my name’s Newton. I’d like it if you called me that.”

He grins, and Hermann feels his heart pick up speed.

 

 ---

 

The surgeon must have warned people against entering the sick bay, because the room is theirs for the rest of night. Newton talks and talks, telling Hermann about his crew, his ship, and the three kaiju they have encountered.

“I’m astonished you’re still alive,” Hermann says, shifting in his chair and feeling a sharp twinge in his leg. “So many hunters don’t make it past their first kill.”

Newton’s eyes flicker down to Hermann’s thigh, which Hermann has begun massaging, absently.

“It’s mostly luck, honestly,” he says. “There’s a good amount of skill involved, and Mako and Raleigh _are_ very skilled, but…” His voice trails off, and Hermann recognizes regret in Newton’s expression. “It’s just that—we can’t _predict_ where the kaiju are going to show up, you know? ‘Hunting’ is really the wrong word, because there’s just no way for us to track them in the water.”

Hermann nods.

“If we could—if there were a way for us to—”

Hermann clears his throat. “Are you well enough to walk?” he asks.

Newton gives him a questioning look and a swift nod.

“Come with me.” 

 

 ---

 

It’s almost midnight. A crescent sliver hangs precariously in the sky, and Hermann takes a deep breath of sea-air on instinct. He turns to Newton behind him, who is staring up at the stars as though he has never seen them before. The wonder in his eyes would perhaps look more natural on the face of a small child. Hermann can’t hold back an upward twitch of the lips as he watches Newton take a few tentative steps forward.

“This way,” Hermann says.

The two people who are still awake are occupied with lookout duties, their gazes cast out to sea. Hermann is thankful for the privacy. He leads Newton along the port to the abandoned quarterdeck.

“I’m the navigator on this ship,” Hermann says, approaching his heavy oaken table and pulling maps from their places. “But trade routes aren’t the only things I chart.” He unrolls his kaiju map with pride and trepidation.

Newton reads Hermann’s script, and his mouth drops open by centimeters. He stares at each point, reads the names and labels—star positions and lunar distances.

“I theorize,” says Hermann. “That these attacks are not random. That there is a pattern—a method to the madness of the kaiju. Once I figure out what it is, we’ll be able to do just as you said—accurately predict their appearances.”

Newton spends another moment staring at the map. Hermann feels tension in his shoulders.

“You really think you can do that?” Newton asks, quietly.

Hermann stiffens, ready to defend himself against long-suffered accusations. “Yes.”

When Newton looks up, his eyes are alight with mirth. “Show me.”

 

 ---

 

They spend hours in front of the maps. Talking to Newton makes Hermann feel impassioned in a way that he hasn’t for quite some time. It’s as if his blood has begun to stir—a whirlpool forming in still water. He explains the significance of his numbers at length, but when he makes a prediction too far south for Newton’s liking, Newton begins to argue.

“Their bodies aren’t built for such cold temperatures,” he says. He shakes his head. “No, that one has to be wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing in their biology suggests that they would survive the chill of ice—”

“It follows the pattern I’ve—”

“I don’t care—your pattern is a theory, and my analysis of their biology is fact. No kaiju I’ve sampled would be able to survive for longer than a few days in water that cold.”

Hermann scowls and chews on his bottom lip. He refuses to scratch away his notation—instead, he draws a question mark next to it.

They discuss the maps until the moon is low on the horizon. They are sitting on a bench that Newton pulled from across the deck, and when Hermann ducks his head and yawns, he distantly realizes that their thighs are touching.

“We should get some sleep,” he says. “You’re still not well, and—”

“I’m perfectly well, and I can’t sleep.”

“Well I’ve been sitting on wooden chairs all day, and—”

Newton stands immediately. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Hermann shakes his head. “Don’t be.” He curses himself for mentioning it.

“We should do this again tomorrow,” Newton says, eagerly. “Maybe when I’m done with the chores, and you’ve done whatever charting you need to do for the day.”

Hermann averts his eyes, looking out over the water. “I’d rather—we shouldn’t do this where people can see,” he says. “Too many are superstitious, and they don’t—”

“I understand.”

There is a short silence before Newton speaks again.

“Tomorrow night,” he suggests. “After everyone’s gone to sleep.”

Hermann looks up, and holds Newton’s eyes. “Tomorrow night,” he says.

They walk back to the sick bay side-by-side, saying their goodbyes in the doorway. Hermann is unsure of where to look, and even less sure of what to say. He settles for a bland “goodnight” before continuing down the hall.

Alone in his room, Hermann washes his face and strips down to his nightshirt. He crawls beneath his quilt and stares up at the wood grain. Instead of tracing its whorls, he thinks about Newton, and replays their conversation over and over in his head.

 

 ---

 

The next day is bright and sunny, and Hermann sleeps in until well past sunrise. He eats cold porridge alone in the mess, and when he arrives on deck, the ship is already buzzing with life. The captain is standing on the bow, looking out at sea through a telescope. Hermann heads towards her, quickly.

“Hermann! Hermann, good morning!”

Hermann looks up to find Newton high on the foremast. He ties a rope into place, then balances carefully and lets go of the mast to wave at Hermann with both hands.

Hermann feels a spark of panic. “Grab hold of something before you get yourself killed!” he shouts.

Newton just grins and cups one hand around his ear—a silent request for Hermann to repeat himself. Hermann rolls his eyes.

“Geiszler! Focus!” One of the other riggers scolds him, and Newton gives the man a salute before smiling at Hermann once more, then going back to his chores.

Hermann shakes his head and steps onto the quarterdeck, laying his maps on the table as the captain comes towards him.

“Still on track to arrive in ten days?” she asks.

Hermann looks down at their last marked position. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. "Perhaps fewer, if these winds continue.”

The captain gives a solemn nod and studies the map in silence. Hermann looks over the woman’s shoulder, where he can see Newton scaling the mast—his hair in disarray, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his colorful arms. He climbs into the crow’s nest and looks down at the deck, then up at Hermann. Hermann looks away quickly.

“I’d like to get us there as quickly as possible,” says the captain, still looking at the map. “Make sure we’re on the most direct route.”

Hermann nods, respectfully. A noise from the mast causes them both to look up, and they see Newton swinging down from a rope and onto the deck, narrowly avoiding a pile of cargo. He stumbles on his landing, then lets go of the rope and wanders out of sight as if nothing happened. The captain frowns.

“I’m going to speak to him,” she says. “The man’s a hard worker, but his behavior can be…”

“Unconventional?” Hermann supplies.

“A bit.” The captain gives a sigh and claps Hermann on the shoulder. “We’ll be rid of him soon enough,” she says. She walks down the deck in Newton’s direction. Hermann stares after her, chest feeling tight.

 

\---

 

The morning feels short, likely because Hermann slept in so late. All day, he only sees Newton twice—they share a quick lunch in the mess around noon, and later, they pass each other below deck as Hermann is fetching a spare compass from his room. When the sun begins to set and the bell rings for supper, Newton seeks Hermann out, and chatters endlessly as they walk.

“I really think that understanding the biology of the kaiju is the key to destroying them. If we know their weak spots, we know what to aim for, and what to focus on. It gives us a huge advantage—much better than stabbing at them aimlessly with a harpoon.”

“It surprises me that you have any interest in hunting at all,” Hermann says. “Considering your fondness for the legends, and those tattoos on your arms...I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in killing them.”

Newton is silent for a moment. They reach the line for food and are presented with bowls of stew that look barely edible, made up of leftovers. They find a small empty space at the end of the table, and sit across from each other, squished up against the wall.

“They fascinate me,” Newton says, poking at his stew and not looking up. “They’re amazing creatures, and so interesting. I just want to know _everything_. But at the same time, the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve—” He looks away. “I have no moral problem with killing them.”

Hermann nods, and doesn’t push for more.

 

\---

 

They stay in the mess until well after supper. As the room empties out, the few remaining sailors are able to overhear their conversation. Newton is giving an enthusiastic description of his last kaiju sighting, and Hermann glances down the table to find that the boatswain is shooting a dirty scowl in their direction.

“Newton,” Hermann interrupts. “Lower your voice. I don’t think this subject is entirely welcome.”

Newton looks at the boatswain, who is still staring with no small amount of anger.

“She’ll have to get over it,” he says to Hermann. “Kaiju are a fact of life on the sea.”

The boatswain shoves her empty bowl across the table and stands.

“You’re a cocky little thing,” she spits. “If this ship gets attacked, we’ll all know who to blame.”

Newton rolls his eyes. “If this ship gets attacked, you’ll all be thanking me for—”

"It's bad enough having the navigator onboard. Him and his _hobbies_. With the both of you here, it's a wonder we're still afloat."

Hermann bites his lip. Newton stands from his chair.

"Hermann's charting work is nothing short of brilliant,” he says. “If he finds a method of predicting kaiju appearances, it could mean safe seas for the entire world."

"Yes, _if_ he finds a method. And _if_ he doesn't get us all killed in the process."

Newton’s hand clenches into a fist at his side. Hermann looks up at him in surprise, heart beginning to race.

“Newton, sit down,” he says. He reaches out to touch Newton’s arm. “It’s not worth the trouble.”

Newton takes a slow breath and unclenches his hand, still staring daggers at the boatswain.

  
"You’d best show him respect," he says coldly. "Or you’ll find trouble quicker than you think."

The boatswain looks down at Hermann, but doesn't say anything. She walks out of the room with an angry defiance, her two friends following. Hermann stares after her in mild shock.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs.

Newton sits back down and stares at his empty bowl. Their knees touch under the table, but neither one moves away.

 

\---

 

The rest of the night is quiet and still. When everyone is sleeping, save for the lookouts, Hermann leads the way to the quarterdeck and sits down at his table. He picks up his sextant and sights the angle between Rhynn and the horizon.

“How do you even use that thing?” Newton asks, curiosity lighting his eyes.

Hermann smirks. “I’m unsurprised you don’t know.”

“Shut up, just show me.”

Hermann teaches Newton how to use the sextant. Newton teaches Hermann the names of the dolphins riding the bow. Together, they stare out at the horizon line and search for constellations overhead.

“The winds were strong today,” Hermann says. “We may arrive earlier than I expected.”

Newton nods. A cool breeze blows his hair across his forehead. Hermann finds himself staring, and turns away to move his navigation maps aside. He unrolls the map marked “kaiju,” instead.

They both sit at the table and talk about distances and tides, the motions of the sea and stars. Hermann searches desperately for a link between locations. Newton helps as best he can.

“I think your location is off here, too” he says, pointing. “Your third and fourth predictions are too close together. The kaiju are very territorial, so they wouldn’t—”

Hermann frowns. “Why don’t you leave the mapping to me,” he says. “Those locations are based off a formula I’ve been working on for—”

“And my advice is based off observations that I—”

“There’s no way—”

“It’s got to be wrong, mate.” Newton shifts, his elbow briefly touching Hermann’s side, startling them both. “Look at—”

“Measurements and numbers _cannot_ be wrong.”

“Well apparently they can, because from what I know of kaiju behavior—”

“Oh, and clearly you’re the foremost expert on kaiju behavior.”

“Well I know a hell of a lot more than you!”

Hermann scowls and stares at the map. His right hand is resting on the table next to Newton’s left, and when Newton inches closer and brushes his little finger over Hermann’s own, Hermann holds his breath.

“Believe me, I’ve been studying these creatures for a very long time.” Newton continues speaking as if nothing is happening. He lifts his finger and links it with Hermann’s without looking. “Based on what I’ve seen firsthand, this location is incredibly unlikely.”

Hermann’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“I’ll—I’ll reconsider,” he says.

Newton inches his hand closer so that their fingers overlap.

“Did you just admit that I’m right?” he asks, teasingly.

“No, what I said was—”

“Because if so, I might have to do this more often.”

For the first time, Hermann looks down at their hands. His fingers are long and slim, Newton’s shorter and more tanned. There is a fin pattern tattooed across Newton’s wrist. He has an old scar across his knuckles, and a more recent one on his index finger. Hermann looks up to find that Newton is staring at him.

“That—might not be objectionable,” he says.

 

 ---

 

They spend another hour on deck, staring at the map with their hands linked, talking about kaiju. When Newton gives a dramatic yawn, Hermann stands, and tugs him up. They walk slowly back to the sick bay, and find themselves faced with a goodbye even more awkward than the one from the night before.

“So...tomorrow, then?” Newton asks.

Hermann gives a stiff nod, but refuses to release his grip on Newton’s hand.

“Alright.” Newton is looking down. His gaze flickers up, and he licks his lips. Hermann is still for just one more moment.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he mutters. He takes a step forward, tilts Newton’s face up, and kisses him.

Newton makes a soft, surprised noise. His hands fall to Herman’s waist, then tug him closer. Hermann stumbles forward, and his cane clatters to the ground. They both pull away with a gasp, listening for any sign of movement from the rooms surrounding them.

After a few seconds of silence, Newton chuckles, quietly. It’s barely a heartbeat before they are kissing again.

Newton kisses like he’s about to break into laughter at any moment. The edges of his lips turn up, and sometimes his teeth get in the way. He pulls back to let out stuttered giggles—short excited huffs of breath—then he leans back in and nips gently at the corner of Hermann’s mouth.

Hermann can’t stand the teasing. He tilts his head and holds Newton still, then parts his lips. Newton lets him in, and when Hermann’s tongue licks forward, Newton gasps, shivers, and gives a quiet moan.

A fire sparks low in Hermann’s stomach. Newton’s hands start to wander low, fingers brushing over the small of his back and down past the waistline of his breeches. Hermann leans forward, pressing Newton against the door frame. They’re so close that they can feel the rise and fall of each others’ chest with every breath.

Newton shifts his position, and Hermann feels a hardness against his thigh. He flinches nervously, and Newton immediately pulls away.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, it’s—”

Hermann looks at Newton, and Newton looks at the wall. His face is lobster-red, his breaths coming fast and hard.

“It’s alright,” Hermann murmurs. “Though, perhaps we should part ways for tonight.”

Newton looks mortified, so Hermann leans in and kisses him again, long and slow and sweet. When he pulls away, Newton’s eyes are half-lidded and his lips swollen. Hermann smiles to himself.

“Until tomorrow,” he says, quietly.

 

 ---

 

The next few days are a haze of happy activity. Hermann and Newton share meals together, sitting across from each other in the small quarters of the mess hall. They go about their work separately, but meet again for lunch, where they spend no small amount of time squabbling over tide patterns and lunar pull. They take a short break from their afternoon duties to rendezvous in a supply closet, or an empty cabin. They end their days on the quarterdeck with Hermann’s maps, then share a long goodbye in the sick bay.

The rest of the crew learns to leave them alone. For Hermann, it’s nothing new—he has never been popular. Newton’s outgoing personality makes him more approachable, but when he’s not working, he keeps others at an unspoken distance. When the cooper sits down next to them at dinner and tries to engage Newton in conversation, Newton speaks only a few sentences to him before looking up at Hermann and re-starting a debate from earlier that morning. The cooper watches them bicker, then rolls his eyes and slides down the table to talk to someone else. Hermann isn’t sure if Newton realizes what he’s doing, but it feels good to be the sole focus of someone’s attention. He makes a snarky snipe at Newton’s theory on kaiju hunting territory, but it is more a show of fondness than anything. When Newton’s lips twitch in a suppressed smirk, Hermann knows that Newton can tell.

 

 ---

 

They reach their first port nine days after picking up Newton. Hermann stands on the starboard bow as they near the city, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazes out at dry land. Newton is helping to prepare crates and barrels for unloading. He rushes from bow to stern in a flurry of motion, dodging other sailors along the way. By now they are used to his constant activity, and are glad to see his energy put to good use.

The ship docks just before noon, and they spend their remaining daylight hours unloading goods and refilling the empty spaces with local exports. Unable to help with the manual labor, Hermann spends time doing odd jobs around the ship and arranging deals with local merchants. When the sun finally begins to set, he returns to the deck, where the captain has gathered the crew to announce that they will be spending the night in port. There are hoots and hollers, and people immediately begin filing off the ship, eager to explore the city—to revisit old haunts, and find new places to waste their wages.

“Would you rather spend the night on the ship, or stay in town?” Hermann asks, turning to Newton.

Newton gives a mischievous grin. “Town,” he says. “I heard talk of a brothel—”

“Very funny.”

“A few of the others are going. I wouldn’t want to feel left out.”

“Newton—”

“I could pretend to be your rent boy.”

Hermann’s cheeks flush pink, and he feels his heartbeat flutter. “Don’t be crass,” he mutters.

Newton just looks away with a knowing smile. As they walk down the dock, he leans in close until his lips brush the shell of Hermann’s ear.

“Do you want to get a room at the inn?” he asks.

Hermann swallows thickly, and nods.

 

\---

 

Westport is a small but crowded city. Its population is ever-changing, as merchants arrive and depart in a constant shuffle throughout the year. The main street through the city's center is lined with shops and stalls. Wagons are parked haphazardly across the cobblestone, loaded with baskets of exotic fruits and salted meats, everything clearly labeled with competitive prices. Alleyways are blocked off by tables and even tiny lean-tos, their occupants making the most of their limited space by shouting out to catch the attention of passers-by.

Hermann finds the cobblestone cumbersome, but otherwise, he manages to navigate the crowds well enough. They wander down the main stretch at a leisurely pace, looking at handicrafts and watching people barter for the lowest price. Newton is taken in by the mouth-watering smell of a food cart, and ends up paying a few coins for three balls of meat speared on a stick. He urges Hermann to try a bite, and doesn't give up until they are huddled under an awning away from the crowds, and Hermann is licking sage sauce from the corners of his mouth.

"Delicious, isn't it?" Newton asks with a grin.

Hermann agrees, but only gives a half-hearted shrug.

Newton laughs, soft and low. He places a hand on Hermann's back, and forces people to move around them as they walk side-by-side.

 

 ---

 

The inn they choose is small and straw-thatched, nestled between a glassmaker and a sweet shoppe. Once they’ve secured a room at the front, they sit down to dinner and are served fresh golden cheese and warm crusty bread. A meat pie is placed in front of them, piping hot, filled with pork, vegetables, and thick brown gravy seasoned with ginger and sweetened with dates. Hermann sips at a dark red wine that calms his nerves, and Newton enjoys a glass of mead that makes him lick his lips after every swallow.

When they have had food and drink enough, they wander up the stairs to their room, and lock the door behind them.

 

 ---

 

Newton tastes like honey. A fire is crackling in the hearth, casting light over what skin is bared, and creating shadows in the corners of the room. Hermann has one hand on Newton’s cheek, the rough tug of stubble beneath his fingertips. He pulls back just enough to push Newton’s eyeglasses up and onto his head.

“I want to see you, though,” Newton mutters with a smile.

“Give me a moment.”

Hermann kisses him again, achingly slow, sliding his hand to Newton’s nape and tangling fingers in his hair. Newton whimpers. His shirt is untied, revealing splashes of color over his shoulder blades, and Hermann spares a moment to trace tattooed lines before taking Newton’s hand and tugging him forward.

“Come lie with me,” he whispers.

 

 ---

 

Hermann is wearing a dark grey waistcoat over a white linen shirt. His breeches are fitted, his feet sheathed in stockings.

Newton is wearing loose worker’s trousers tucked into boots. His black vest lays forgotten on the floor, followed quickly by his shirt.

 

 ---

 

“I’m not going to—I mean, will I—” Newton removes his hand from Hermann’s hip. His eyes flicker down to Hermann’s leg, and his face turns from a pleasant pink to an embarrassed crimson. Hermann sighs, heavily.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to kneel,” he says. “Or do anything too—”

“That’s okay, I just—is there anything I shouldn’t—”

“For god’s sake, I won’t break. I’ve done this before.”

“Sorry,” Newton mutters. His face falls. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Hermann is quiet. Newton is avoiding his eyes and has stilled completely, unsure of how to continue.

“You aren’t going to hurt me.” Hermann murmurs. “A bit of pain is unavoidable, but—just don’t put too much pressure on this leg and I’ll be fine.”

Newton nods. Hermann pulls him forward and can feel the way Newton shifts his weight to accommodate him.

 

 ---

 

The fire pops in the hearth. Muted sounds of conversation drift up from downstairs, and quiet activity can be heard below the open window.

Hermann’s head is tilted to the side, Newton’s lips on his neck. Their chests are bare, color-stained skin against cream white. Newton’s fingers drift over Hermann’s ribs, searching for the spots that make him sigh and gasp and laugh.

 

 ---

 

Hermann sputters indignantly, and Newton jumps out of bed.

“I’m not saying you smell foul,” he says, walking to the hearth with a merry bounce to his step. “I just want to bathe you. And wouldn’t it feel nice to lie in bed all freshly bathed?”

Before Hermann can properly react, Newton picks up a basin of water by the fire. He places it on the bedside table, still chattering away half-dressed, with a visible bulge in his trousers.

“When was the last time you had a proper bath?” he asks.

Hermann shakes his head. “You’re mad.”

Newton’s smile just grows wider. He places a wet cloth on Hermann’s chest and drags it down, slowly. The water is lukewarm from the fire, and scented with sprigs of lavender. Newton’s eyes follow the cloth’s path with an attentiveness that makes Hermann blush.

“How does that feel?” Newton asks.

 

 ---

 

Newton washes Hermann’s chest, his stomach, and his arms. Hermann’s breaths quicken, and his erection presses at the front of his breeches. Newton doesn’t say anything, just dips the cloth back into the basin and wrings it out, methodically. He washes Hermann’s neck and face, and leans down to kiss the water from his lips.

They adjust the bed’s pillows in a pile, and Hermann lounges back to rest at a comfortable angle. Newton settles between his legs.

When Newton asks, Hermann nods. He pretends not to notice that Newton’s fingers shake as they undo his buttons.

 

\---

 

Hermann is breathing heavily. Newton’s pupils are wide and dark. Their clothes are forgotten on the floor among the rushes.

“You’re gorgeous,” Newton says.

Hermann blushes deeply. He turns away.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters.

 

 ---

 

It’s as if Newton has been thrown overboard all over again, and Hermann is both his oxygen and his raft. He lays over Hermann’s good side, clinging to him with both hands and kissing him as if his life depends on it. It makes Hermann’s stomach flip and his toes curl.

“I haven’t finished washing you,” Newton murmurs.

Hermann snorts.

The water has lost its heat. It’s not yet cold, but it’s still a bit of a shock to Hermann’s fire-warmed skin. Newton takes great care in stroking Hermann’s legs, paying special attention to the backs of his knees and his small, bony ankles. He massages Hermann’s right thigh, and kisses both his kneecaps.

Hermann’s muscles tremble when Newton touches his hip. Newton’s thumb sweeps across his pelvic bone, and Hermann bites his lip against a moan.

 

 ---

 

“You’re not—” Hermann swallows. “You’re not finished. You’ve only washed my front.”

Newton chuckles to himself. When he wraps a hand around Hermann’s cock, Hermann gasps and clutches at the bed sheets.

“Newt—”

Newton takes Hermann into his mouth. Hermann’s eyes flutter shut.

 

 ---

 

The air smells of herbs and musk. Newton makes soft sounds of pleasure, and Hermann exhales sharply from his nose. His arousal spirals—a heavy pressure in his abdomen. He glances down and catches Newton’s eyes, then squeezes his own eyes shut and gasps.

“Wait—not yet—” he says. He recites the names of stars in a desperate attempt to make himself last. Newton pulls off with a plop, grinning up at Hermann and looking pleased and smug.

 

 ---

 

“Is this okay?” Newton asks, positioning himself astride Hermann’s hips. “It’s not too—”

“No—fine—perfect.”

Newton smiles and sits down carefully, making sure to carry most of his weight himself. He takes both their cocks in one wet hand, his eyes falling shut at the sensation.

 

 ---

 

“Anthas, Perem, Kalil—”

Hermann looks up to see Newton gazing down at him. He is slack-jawed, his eyes half-lidded, his chest sheened with sweat, his fist pulling in quick strokes.

“Ashir, Essuld, Beltan—”

 

\---

 

Newton’s thumb twists and Hermann’s vision blacks out completely. The names of stars are wiped from his mind, and he cries out a single strangled sound as he comes.

Above him, Newton whispers _yes yes yes_. Hermann gasps once, twice, then opens his eyes and feels the warmth of Newton’s release on his stomach. He stares in a daze, and listens to Newton cry out his name.

 

 ---

 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for a week.”

“Nine days. And shut up, that’s a long time.”

Hermann laughs. Newton presses a smiling kiss to his cheek.

 

 ---

 

Hermann wakes before the sunlight touches his face. Newton is still sleeping, sprawled on his stomach with his hair in disarray. He is facing Hermann and exhales tiny snuffles into the fabric of his pillow.

It’s just now become dawn, and Hermann knows they need to leave. He reaches out with one hand and finds himself brushing hair away from Newton’s forehead. Newton wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t wake up. Hermann drops his hand.

The bed is soft and warm from their body heat. The bedcovers smell like lingering lavender. Hermann knows he’s in trouble, because he just wants to watch Newton sleep, and he doesn’t think he could ever get bored of it.

Newton grumbles quietly and licks his lips. His eyelids flutter open, and he gives Hermann a wavery half-asleep smile.

“Morning,” he says, voice rough and scratchy. His eyes immediately shut.

“No, no,” says Hermann. “Open your eyes; we need to get up. The ship’s supposed to leave port not long after dawn.”

“Mmm. Don’t care. Stay here with me.”

“I can’t, we need to—”

“Never gonna leave this bed.” Newton reaches out to lay an arm over Hermann’s waist. Hermann’s resolve weakens.

“They’ll leave without us,” he says, unconvincingly.

“Without me, maybe. Not without you.”

“Newton.”

Newton opens his eyes again, looking more awake now, and mischievous. He smoothes a hand down Hermann’s side, then sits up, stretching his arms above his head.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m awake. Though no one can complain if I’m in a bitter mood all morning.”

He gets out of bed and gathers his clothes from the floor. Hermann watches the stretch of his spine and roll of his stomach. He’s overcome with affection, and looks away to hide his face.

 

\---

 

They’re not the last ones to board the ship, but they do come close. Some of the other sailors eye them as they climb aboard. Hermann looks clean and put-together as usual, but Newton never bothered to fix his hair, and his shirt is tied looser than usual. When they pass by the cooper below deck, Hermann is embarrassed to see the man wink at him.

The ship sets off for their next destination—another trade port called Coldshore. It’s a sunny day, though windy on the water, and Hermann buttons his roughspun coat to keep out the chill. Newton is helping to rig the sails, so Hermann heads to the quarterdeck, where the captain is looking out over the water.

“Morning,” she says, as Hermann approaches. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Captain?”

“We need to get that one out of the sick bay.” The captain gestures to Newton, who is tangled in rope at the foremast. “Surgeon’s been complaining about his quarters being occupied, and really, now that the man’s healthy, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be in a room like the rest of us.”

Hermann nods, only half-listening, watching Newton with mild worry as he climbs higher up the mast.

“I’m sorry to say it, Gottlieb, but you’re the only one with an empty bunk.”

Hermann’s attention snaps back, and he pales. “You’re—moving him in with me?”

“Well, I know you two uh—get on. I don’t want to mess up any _agreement_ that you have going, but—”

“Agreement?”

“Yeah.” The captain looks away, awkwardly. “I understand. People get lonely. They need a release for their uh—well—you help each other out. I get it.”

By now, Hermann’s cheeks feel hot. He drops his eyes and bites the inside of his mouth to keep from saying anything he might regret.

“Anyway, if it gets too weird, then just remember that he’ll only be here another couple of weeks.”

Hermann nods. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Good man.” The captain claps him on the shoulder and goes back to work.

 

\---

 

Later in the day, when it’s almost time to retire, Hermann sits on the edge of his bed and looks around his tiny room. His bedcovers are arranged with pristine neatness; his quilt spread without a wrinkle. On his bedside table is a stack of four books and a lit candle. His modest trunk sits at the foot of the bed, containing his clothes and a few treasured personal items. There is no porthole in his room, so the only source of light is his candle. Hermann reaches out a hand to warm his cold fingertips over the flame when he hears footsteps in the hall, and a gentle knock on the door. It opens, and Newton peeks inside.

“So these are my quarters now,” he says.

Hermann nods. “We’ll be sharing the space.”

“That’s awfully convenient.” Newton closes the door behind him. It takes him barely two steps to cross the tiny room.

“You’ll be sleeping in the top bunk, of course,” says Hermann, flustering as Newton sits down beside him.

“Will I?”

“Well I can hardly clamber—”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to share?”

“If you think two grown men can share this one bunk, then you are sorely mistaken.”

Newton looks at the bed with apprehension. He lays down just to test it, and finds that there’s barely enough room for one. Hermann raises an eyebrow. Newton concedes.

“Alright,” he says. “Separate bunks, then.” There is a note of disappointment in his voice.

“However,” Hermann begins, putting a hand on Newton’s chest to prevent him from rising. “Perhaps there are ways to conserve space. If only for an hour or so.” He lies down, draping himself over Newton’s body. Newton’s hands immediately slide to Hermann’s waist to hold him in place.

“I like this,” Newton says. “This could work.”

Hermann smiles and kisses his neck.

 

\---

 

The attack happens on their third night out of Westport. Hermann and Newton are sitting on the quarterdeck, talking over the kaiju map. Every night, Hermann feels as though he’s coming closer to an accurate formula—a useable method that will help him to plot future kaiju appearances. He is leaning over the map, about to dip his quill in ink when the lookout shouts and starts to scramble from the crow’s nest.

“Serpent!” the boy yells. “Serpent in the northwest!” He tumbles from the rigging and runs below deck to wake the captain.

Newton curses. He grabs a spyglass from the table and rushes to the side of the ship to search the horizon.

“Can you see it?” asks Hermann. Without a lens, all he can see is distant movement, dimly lit by the waxing moon. He spots his sextant on the table and picks it up to use the tiny telescope.

Pounding footsteps come running towards them. The captain and lookout are on their way, followed by a few other sailors who were awakened by the noise. The captain raises a spyglass and turns to where the lookout is pointing. When she finds what she’s looking for, a shadow passes over her face.

“God,” she mutters.

Newton stills. He grasps blindly for Hermann’s hand and tugs him forward, holding his spyglass steady and moving Hermann into his place. Hermann looks through the eyepiece.

The blur he spotted from the distance is not only a kaiju, but also a square-rigged ship. The kaiju is swimming around the ship like a hungry predator, long body dipping in and out of the ocean. It raises its great head in curiosity, then dives at the deck. Hermann can see small specks falling into the water—sailors either thrown overboard or jumping by their own choice.

More people have gathered around them, and someone takes away Hermann’s spyglass by force. Instead of arguing, all he can do is stand still in shock and fear.

“Do you know that ship?” he asks the captain.

The captain shakes her head. “No. Military vessel, by the looks of it.” She frowns out at the water with dismay. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”

Hermann is still holding his sextant loosely in one hand. He lifts it to his eyes to see the fate of their fellow ship.

The kaiju's body is mostly submerged under the water. The ship is armed with cannons, and Hermann hears the muted boom of a few explosions, but they don’t appear to be effective. The serpent continues to slither, its tail striking the mainmast, shattering it to pieces.

“What can we do?” someone asks.

“Lie in wait,” says another. “And hope it doesn’t see us.”

"We're dead."

Hermann looks away. Newton is still staring out at the water, his knuckles white where they grip the ship’s edge.

"You all know why it’s come," says a familiar voice. "The tattoos, the stories, giving voice to the monsters' name. And _this_."

Hermann turns to find the boatswain holding his kaiju map in one hand. She is staring at him with fire in her eyes, grief and fear pushing her to anger.

"This is your fault," she says with a snarl.

Newton takes a step forward. "This is no one's fault," he says. "The kaiju don't care about your ridiculous superstitions."

"Ah, and you beg for more! Saying the word again as if calling a dog to heel!"

"Please," sneers Newton. "As if the kaiju recognize the common language."

Hermann puts a hand on Newton's arm to calm him. "The purpose of the map is to predict kaiju appearances," he says. "I'm using the stars and heavenly bodies to—"

"Predict their appearances?" someone asks. "Then why couldn't you predict this one?"

There is murmuring among the crew. A few people have gathered around the map, prodding at it and reading its markings. Hermann feels exposed.

“You have all your neat little points plotted out so nicely," says the boatswain. "Where’s the prediction for that serpent right there?”

"It's not finished," Hermann says, his voice stern. "I haven't yet found the formula."

"Your invocation's only half-cast?"

Hermann seethes.

They hear a loud snap across the water. The ship in the distance has split in two—both sides sinking into the ocean. The kaiju continues to dart in and out of the waves. Distant screams can be heard as survivors try to escape its maw.

"It will come for us," whispers the boatswain.

"What do we do?" Hermann asks, turning to Newton.

Newton shakes his head. "There's nothing we can do, mate."

The night becomes eerily still as the noises of the sinking ship are silenced, and the kaiju sinks beneath the water. Hermann is about to speak when the kaiju surfaces again—this time, closer. It starts swimming at a terrifying speed, heading straight for their ship.

The deck becomes a flurry of activity. Some people run to their rooms for shelter, others head for the rowboats. The captain stands still at the ship’s wheel, staring out at the ocean. Hermann turns to find the boatswain behind them—face pale, body paralyzed with indecision. Newton grabs hold of Hermann's hand.

"What do we do?" Hermann asks again, voice frantic. "We can—take shelter in our room, or—"

"Nothing!" Newton shouts. He squeezes Hermann's hand tighter. "There's nothing to be done."

The kaiju nears. Hermann has never seen anything move so fast in the water. His heart pounds against his ribcage.

"I don't want to—"

"I know."

The captain has sunk to her knees, her eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. The boatswain is clutching at the navigation table, her whole body shaking with fear.

Newton brings Hermann's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

"Newton—"

"Shh."

The kaiju is so close that they can see its eyes flashing bright yellow in the dark. They seem to glow with an unearthly light, their pupils thin and slivered like a snake's.

"Newton," Hermann says again. He steps closer until Newton turns to him. “Newton, I—”

The kaiju roars an ear-splitting cry, and Hermann's words are drowned out. They both turn to look at the beast. They hear several screams of terror. Just as it seems as though the serpent will strike the ship, it takes a sharp dive underwater. Its entire body curves over the surface, its tail slaps the waves, and it disappears. The ship rocks. Newton clutches Hermann so tightly that his fingers may leave marks.

They stand stock-still on the deck of the _Nomad_. When long seconds pass and there is no sign of the kaiju, people start reappearing from their hiding places. The captain stands and looks out at sea. The boatswain, having sunk onto a bench, lifts herself on shaking legs.

"We're alive," says Newton, smile suddenly wide and blinding. He kisses Hermann’s hand. “We’re alive.”

Hermann looks at him, stunned. His heart beats a mile a minute. All the air leaves his lungs as Newton grabs him in a tight embrace.

 

 ---

 

They wait and wait, but the kaiju doesn’t return. Someone breaks open a keg of wine, and it’s not long before two men start to fiddle. Food is brought up from the galley, and there is music and dancing late into the night.

No one admits that they are afraid to go to sleep. When the sun rises in vermilion and saffron, they squint their eyes against its glare, but are grateful to be alive to see it.

 

\---

 

It’s one week before the ship arrives at Coldshore. True to its name, the port is chilled and windy. The sky is overcast, and harsh waves crash on the rocks that line the coast. Newton and the other sailors don’t seem bothered by the temperature. They are too busy carrying cargo from the hold, their movement and activity keeping their bodies warm. Hermann watches and tugs his coat closer around his slim frame.

They have fewer goods to unload at this port, and more daylight hours to spend in the city. When the manual labor is done, and deals are being made with local merchants, Newton finds Hermann on the wobbly wooden dock and smiles up at him, eyes bright.

“I want to see the tide pools,” he says. “Come with me.”

He leads the way to a cold, deserted beach that they had seen from the ship. The sand is rough and coarse, dark with bits of mussel. Hermann watches a crab scurry from beneath a rock to hide away in the water.

“What are we doing here?” he asks. “It looks as though it’s going to rain, and this sand is irritating to walk on.”

Newton looks up from where he had been studying a collection of pools among the rocks.

“I just want to see what lives here,” he says. “The variety of life you can find in intertidal zones is really astonishing.”

Hermann gives a long-suffering sigh and sits down on a dry boulder.

“I’ll find you a pearl,” Newton says.

“What makes you think I would _want_ a pearl?”

Newton shrugs. Hermann shakes his head in exasperation.

The wind starts to die down, and the clouds begin to part, sunlight peeking through. Hermann is relieved that there will be no rain. He looks up at the sky as Newton scrambles from pool to pool, dipping his hands in the water and plucking up flora and fauna. Hermann leans back and closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of reappearing sunshine on his face.

A shadow passes, and Hermann is startled by the drip of seawater on his cheek. He sputters and opens his eyes to find Newton standing over him, holding up a sea star and grinning.

“That’s cold!” Hermann shouts, wiping his face dry with his sleeve.

Newton laughs. “Sorry.” He brushes a drop of water from Hermann’s chin with his thumb. “Come look,” he says.

On a nearby rock, dark with water and green-patched with algae, Newton has positioned six sea stars with apparent purpose. Hermann stares down at them, not sure what he’s supposed to be seeing. Newton is looking at him proudly, and Hermann starts to feel guilty.

“Um—”

“It’s that constellation you showed me,” Newton says. “The Lovers.”

Hermann breathes a soft “oh,” still struggling to see the shape.

“You’re missing some of the minor stars,” he says. Newton makes a quiet sound of disappointment, and Hermann rushes to correct himself. “Sorry, I—thank you.” He takes Newton’s hand and squeezes it.

They spend ten more minutes on the beach. Newton continues to run from pool to pool, naming creatures in both the common tongue and that of the scholars. He never goes farther than Hermann can see, and never asks Hermann to look at anything that is too difficult for him to reach. When the wind blows a chill through the air, Hermann shivers, and Newton wraps him in his arms and rubs his back to generate heat. He nuzzles a bit into Hermann’s neck, and Hermann tilts his head to encourage him.

 

 ---

 

When they reach the center of town, the clouds have parted completely, and sunlight shines down to brighten the bleak stone buildings. Hermann and Newton wander through the city's streets, glancing in shop windows and reading the wooden signs that hang in front of doorways. They follow the sound of voices, and when they turn a corner, they find themselves in the middle of a fish market—wagons lining either side of the street, filled with the morning's catch. Newton takes a deep inhale.

"Smells like home," he says.

"You grew up on the coast?" asks Hermann.

Newton looks at him with a frown. "You didn't?"

"No. My family lived deep in the woods. I never saw the sea until I was seventeen."

"Then why did you decide to become a sailor?"

"Because—because the trees obscured the stars."

Newton smiles. "My father was a fisherman," he says. "I spent a lot of my childhood in markets like this."

They walk down the street, Newton enjoying the feeling of nostalgia, Hermann wondering what Newton's childhood must have been like. He sees a group of children playing in an alleyway, and imagines a young Newton alongside them.

When they pass a barrel of live whisperfish, Newton’s attention is caught, and he immediately starts talking excitedly to the fisherman about how difficult they are to catch. Hermann wonders if Newton ever misses fishing, and if they would have enough time to take one of the ship's rowboats out onto the water. As Newton's conversation continues, Hermann allows himself to make tentative plans. They need to be back on the ship by dusk, so that leaves them a couple of hours to pack some food, lower a boat, and row somewhere beautiful and secluded. Somewhere where they can talk in soft voices and sit close together on one bench. Newton could catch fish and Hermann could bring a book, read passages out loud, and allow Newton to poke fun of them. He’d act annoyed at first, but it would be hard to hold back laughter, and it wouldn’t be long before—

“Geiszler!”

Hermann looks up. Newton turns to the voice that called his name, but neither of them can see where it is coming from.

“Geiszler!”

The voice is closer now. It’s loud and booming, with all the gentleness of thick smoke rolling from a wildfire. Newton clearly recognizes it. He takes off like an arrow, dodging through the crowd and leaving Hermann behind. Hermann stands alone for a few awkward moments before following at a much slower pace.

He finds Newton in a clearing between two shrimp wagons. Newton is talking excitedly to a tall, handsome man with a pleasant smile and an air of respect and dignity. His eyes could tell stories, and he’s looking down at Newton with the satisfied delight of having found someone he’s lost.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Newton is saying as Hermann approaches. “I was on my way to Lore to find you!”

“We needed to stop for repairs,” the man says. “There was major damage after the attack that threw you overboard.”

Hermann stands a polite distance away, watching the reunion quietly and leaning on his cane to ease a discomfort that is not entirely physical. When the stranger’s eyes flicker past Newton, Newton turns around and gently tugs Hermann forward by the elbow.

“Hermann, this is Captain Stacker Pentecost, of the _Gipsy Danger_. Captain, Hermann’s the navigator of the _Nomad’s Bounty_. His crew pulled me out of the water and took me in.”

Pentecost reaches out to shake Hermann’s hand. His grip is strong and solid.

“Good to meet you,” he says.

Hermann nods, uncertain. Newton launches into a description of what happened when he fell overboard, but Hermann doesn’t hear it. All he can think is _not yet, I’m not ready_. The words repeat themselves in an endless loop inside his head.

“Hermann—”

Hermann’s attention snaps back at the sound of his name falling from Newton’s lips. He soon finds that it was unneeded—Newton wasn’t speaking to him, only about him. He doesn’t say anything about the kaiju map, Hermann’s predictions, the nights they spent talking beneath the stars, how they held hands sometimes just to feel each other close...

Neither Pentecost or Newton are looking at him. Hermann edges away until he can slip quietly into the crowd. He walks back to the _Nomad_ , and no one chases him down to change his mind.

 

 ---

 

The sun hovers low on the horizon while sailors buzz about the ship, getting ready to set sail for their next destination. Hermann tells the captain that Newton won't be joining them, and the woman is smart enough not to ask why. Hermann stays below deck to avoid people's stares. He sits on the edge of his bed and tries not to think about the emptiness of the top bunk. Newton bought a tin of lemon sweets before they left the last port. It lies on the bedside table. Hermann shoves it into a drawer so that he won't have to look at it.

He wishes they had had more time. He wishes that Newton had acknowledged him in front of Pentecost with more than a brief introduction. He wishes that Newton had called him a friend, had shown more warmth towards him. He wishes that Newton had mentioned the kaiju map to the one person who could actually put it to good use.

Hermann sinks his face into his hands and takes a deep breath. He looks up at the door and remembers kissing Newton against its frame. He looks down at the bed and remembers Newton kneeling in front of him, devilish fingers inching up his thighs. He looks at the candle on the bedside table and remembers blowing it out, and hearing Newton's gentle breathing in the dark.

A shout is called from above deck—the ship will be leaving port soon. Herman is more than ready to watch Coldshore vanish into the distance. He looks around his room once more, trying to banish fresh memories from his mind.

 

 ---

 

The dusk sky is slate grey and clear of clouds. If they were in open water, Hermann would be charting their course for the day. Instead, he stands on the starboard bow, looking down at the dock, where the captain is making final preparations for their departure. Hermann's eyes scan the port, but he tells himself not to hope. He sits down at his navigation table. His kaiju map is wrinkled from the night they were almost attacked. It had been passed around among the crew, and now there are a few tears in its edges, and one corner is dog-eared.

The captain walks onboard and shouts for the riggers to prepare the sails. Hermann closes his eyes and traces his fingers over fold lines.

"Wait!" yells a voice.

Hermann’s heart stutters.

"Wait! Hermann!"

Hermann rushes to the ship’s side as quickly as he can. Newton is standing on the dock, jumping up and down and waving his arms, wildly. When he sees Hermann, he tries to take a step forward, but stops himself just before he falls into the water.

"Come back!" he shouts. "Please! I need to talk to you!"

By now, nearly the whole crew is looking down at the dock. They start glancing between Hermann and Newton. The two men manning the boat ramp look at the captain with questioning expressions.

"Best go see what he has to tell you," the captain says. Hermann turns to find her standing close behind him.

"I—I'll only be a minute," he mutters.

The ramp is lowered, and rather than running onto the ship, Newton waits for Hermann to come to him. When they are standing face-to-face, Hermann bites his lips and looks Newton in the eyes, determined to be brave.

"What is it?" he asks. "And why couldn't you just shout it from the dock?"

Newton surges forward and grabs Hermann in a tight hug. He pins Hermann's arms to his sides, and Hermann can't do much of anything except gawk and make sounds of flustered bewilderment.

"Let go," he sputters. "You're making a scene." He can feel the stares of his ship's crew. Half of him wants to die of embarrassment, but the other half wants to melt into Newton's embrace.

"Come with me," Newton whispers. His arms relax marginally, and his hands smooth up Hermann's back and rest on his shoulder blades. "Please."

Hermann's breath catches in this throat. People are staring at them now from both directions—the ship and the dock.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I spoke to Captain Pentecost. I told him about your charting work, and how you could help us track the kaiju. He wants you to join the crew, and I—" Newton pulls back, hands still lingering on Hermann's sides. "I don't want to leave you."

Hermann stares down at Newton, slightly stunned.

"I thought—I didn't think you—"

"You ran off so quickly.”

"Quickly? You were talking to Pentecost for what felt like—"

"I get excited, alright? Will you come with me?"

Hermann looks at Newton's pleading eyes. His hands are still on Hermann's waist. His lips are parted and his breaths come fast, as if he ran the entire way to the ship.

"Please," he says again.

The sun has sunk below the horizon, and candles are being lit in lanterns along the dock.

“Yes,” Hermann says. He nods, firmly. "Yes."

Newton breaks into a smile. He pulls Hermann close, pressing their foreheads together and squeezing him tightly in his arms.

"Would you be incredibly embarrassed if I kissed you in front of everyone?" he asks.

"Don't you dare," Hermann growls.

Newton does it anyway.

 

 ---

 

The _Gipsy Danger_ is a small but impressive ship with her sides painted blue and a large figurehead on her prow in the shape of a flaming orange sun.

Hermann is greeted by Pentecost as soon as he steps onboard. He is introduced to the hunters, Mako and Raleigh, and the ship’s quartermaster, Tendo. Pentecost immediately shows an interest in Hermann’s maps, and they all spend two hours sitting in the captain’s quarters, talking over Hermann’s theories and predictions.

Hermann has never felt so needed. Every member of the crew seems interested in what he has to say, and Newton watches him speak with a proud smile, not interrupting even once.

Later that night, they lie curled together in Newton’s bed—big enough for two—as moonlight shines through the porthole to illuminate their skin.

“You didn’t interrupt me,” Hermann says, as Newton presses kisses to his nape. “Usually you have a thing or two to correct about my theories.”

“There was nothing to say,” Newton murmurs. “You were perfect.” Hermann’s heart flutters in his chest, and Newton’s hand smoothes over his hip.

“Besides,” Newton continues. “I didn’t want to argue while you were making your first impression. You’re bound to get plenty wrong in the future, so there’ll be other opportunities.”

Hermann laughs and shoves with his elbow, but Newton just presses closer, his chest against Hermann’s back, his breath on Hermann’s neck, their legs tangled together beneath Hermann’s quilt.

Hermann sighs contentedly and gazes out the porthole. The sky is clear, and the stars are glittering. He can just make out one constellation shining overhead. It’s the Lovers, and from where he and Newton lie, it seems the brightest thing in the entire night sky.

 

 ---

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having a lot of fun commissioning art for this fic, help
> 
> [the pinkie-touching scene,](http://feriowind.tumblr.com/post/73068839623/i-was-commissioned-by-cypress-tree-to-draw-a-scene) by [feriowind](http://feriowind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [stargazing chibis,](http://cypress-tree.tumblr.com/post/85077730709/so-i-commissioned-the-lovely-iraya-to-draw) by [iraya](http://iraya.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [pre-kiss nervousness,](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/post/90206561367/ink-commission-for-the-wonderful-cypress-tree-a) by [geniusbee](http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> thank you all so much! :3


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